Not Another Jet Lag Story!
by thegirloverhere
Summary: Oh no! MORE of my favorite things! Breakfast Club quotes, reversal of cliches, and -of course- TIVA! We all have read Jet Lag stories, but what reallly happened at the hotel that night...? THE FLUFF IS FINISHED :D
1. Chapter 1

**Author's VERY IMPORTANT NOTE::::::::::::**

**So. My second fanfiction, sort of in the same style of my last though. PLEASE tell me if I have any facts wrong about France or if I misspelled something or my grammar is wrong or if my writing is just cruddy or something. I take Spanish, so I legit have no idea what the heck I'm talking about! Also, I have never been on a subway and/or metro before, so I didn't really know what to call each individual… car? I dunno. Anyway, just tell me :]**

Ziva sighed. "This is not acceptable," she told the woman at the desk.

The woman bent her head to her computer, and then looked up with blank eyes. "We are completely full, and your reservation was for one room."

Ziva gripped the edge of the counter. "We need separate rooms. You must have something," glancing at Tony, who was combing his hair in the mirror, she added, "Anything."

The woman shook her head and passed a single key across the counter. "I'm sorry, Ma'am."

Grabbing her suitcase, Ziva called over her shoulder, "DiNozzo!" She almost laughed when he tripped over his luggage, but was too angry with NCIS to laugh. She made her way up the narrow staircase not looking behind her. She made it to the top long before Tony, who had over packed. Tony caught up with her at the room as she fumbled with the lock. It was old, just like the rest of the crumbling hotel NCIS had booked them in. Ziva shook her head as she examined the state of the halls. Wallpaper was peeling and chipping in some parts onto the floor, which was covered in a carpet spotted by mysterious yellow stains.

"Where's my key?" Tony was slightly breathless.

Finally the door unlocked, and Ziva walked in. Looking around the room she groaned and cursed in Hebrew. There was no couch, but a moldy looking armchair, a fold up table and a bed that looked like it was going to collapse at any minute.

Tony set his luggage down with a thump. "This looks more like a motel six then a Parisian hotel. My room better be –"

"This is your room," Ziva interrupted, setting her stuff near the bathroom door. She walked towards the windows and was surprised to see a balcony.

She could hear the frown in his voice when he said, "Well then why did you put your stuff in here, Zee-vah?"

There was no way to get onto the balcony, from what Ziva could tell. She forced a creaky window opened, and inhaled the fresh air as it flooded the musty room. She thought for a moment, and then swung her leg over the sill and climbed out onto the balcony.

"Ziva? Ziva!"

Ziva looked around. The view was nice, she could see the Eiffel tower, which she was sure would impress Tony. "What are you doing?" Tony poked his head out of the window.

Turning around, Ziva sighed and tried not to reveal any emotion as she told him, "We have to share a room."

"What?"

She turned back towards the scenery to the sound of Tony climbing out the window to join her. "NCIS made a mistake in reserving our rooms. We only have one now."

They were both silent.

"Shit."

--

They chose not to really think about the implications of this. It was clear in both of their minds what they were going to have to do. One of them would have to take the chair (unlikely) or both of them would have to share the bed.

Tony had wanted to go see the Eiffel tower, but Ziva convinced him to wait until night.

"But it will be cold!" complained Tony as he walked backwards for a moment, staring longingly at tower in the distance, "And windy! It will mess up my hair and-"

Ziva rolled her eyes and walked in front of him, forcing him to turn around as she did it. Only two hours in Paris, and she already felt like a babysitter. "Give me a crack. Anyway, you'll like it better at night. It sparkles."

"Give me a _break_. I don't think you want to go around asking for crack, Zee-vah. And sparkles?" Tony took a few brisk steps to catch up with her, nearly running into a few kids in a school group on his way. One of the girls stumbled backwards, and the teacher had a few harsh words, in French, for Tony. He frowned and tried to get across that he was sorry while Ziva laughed. Finally, the kids were ushered away, the woman glaring over her back at Tony every so often.

Ziva snorted and continued, "Yes, Tony, it sparkles. Lots of little lights go off all over the tower." She mimed with her hands. "It makes me cheesy."

"Queasy."

"Whatever."

They walked in silence for a few moments, till Ziva led them down a tunnel to the metro. "Where are we going, anyway?"

Ziva paid for a few tickets and then walked towards the turnstiles. "Le Louvre. It's my favorite place in France. You will like it."

"Ziva? You like a dusty old museum? You think _I_ would like a dusty old museum?" Tony chuckled and tugged on her scarf, which she ignored. It was a green one that Tony had once mistakenly complimented about a year previous. She hadn't worn it since, for some reason that she didn't really know. It just felt strange, like she was wearing it for him. She briefly wondered why she packed it, but dismissed the thought instantly, as it really was her warmest, wasn't it? "Seriously, Ziva, why don't we go find somewhere to get a few, um, _photo ops_…"

There was a sound at the end of the tunnel, and Ziva took a small step away from Tony as a car pulled up. The doors slid open and a rush of people fell out. Ziva slid past them easily, forcing Tony to take several long strides to catch up. There was no sitting room already, and as more and more people piled into the car, Ziva found herself against the back wall, Tony standing a few inches from her face. When the car started, he fell forward slightly and put a hand next to her head on the window, his face barely an inch from hers. Ziva glared at him. "Tony, you are hamburgering me."

"Sandwiching me," Tony corrected automatically.

Ziva shook her head, "No, they eat baguettes here." He was so stupid. She knew he had to have seen many movies, why was he acting so ignorant of French culture? The strangest part of it all was his not wanting to see the Louvre. How many movies was the Mona Lisa in? How big of a tourist attraction was the museum? It had Tony written all over it. Tons of pictures of naked women he could get pictures with. Many _Facebook_ opertunities.

The rest of the ride was relatively silent between the two of them, besides Ziva directing Tony where to go, and Tony alternating between complaining about a museum and making film references in French.

"Pourquoi la porte est fermée? Pourquoi la porte est fermée?" He shouted as they barely missed the metro they were transferring onto.

People turned to stare, and Ziva grabbed Tony by the wrist, twisting slightly. "Stop with _The Breakfast Club _references," she commanded sternly in a low voice. She tugged him closer, and Tony whimpered in pain. "Kapeesh?"

"Kapash!" he squeaked with an exaggerated sigh as she released him with a slight shove. He rubbed his wrist dejectedly and sulked away from him. Ziva sighed and folded her arms, it wouldn't be long… any second now…

"Wait, how did you know that was from _The Breakfast Club_?" Tony was back, and now watching her suspiciously. Stopping short a few feet away from her, he held his hands in the air. "I know, I know, you've seen movies too, Miss America, but that quote's not even well known."

"'Demented and sad, but social' to the hobo 'I did not dump my purse out and invite everyone into my problems' to the woman with the child," she began, ticking each one off on her fingers, "'I am thinking of trying out for a scholarship' to the – "

Tony stepped forward and put a finger on her lips. "Okay, okay, I get it. You know your John Hughes quotes?"

Ziva bit the end of his finger gently, and then said, "The big question is, when did you learn to speak them in French?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "Wanted to learn French for the ladies when I was in college. You know, chicks find it hott when a man can speak the language of love."

The car pulled up. This one was less full, but they stood anyway. Ziva chuckled, "So you watched movies in French?"

"Movie. Singular. _The Breakfast Club_ was all I could find." He grimaced. "Girls don't find 'When you grow up, your heart dies' very romantic."

They finally arrived at their stop, and Ziva tugged Tony out of the metro. "I promise you will like this."

They winded their way down a few streets, Tony stopping periodically to take a picture. Finally, Ziva got impatient and flat out dragged him. They went through some sort of arch, and then –

"Woah."

Tony stared at the courtyard. It was divided into four large squares by colored brick, and in the center there was some sort of pool. Surprisingly, almost no one was there, except for a few women taking pictures of each other.

"Woah." Tony repeated, spreading his arms out and walking forward.

Ziva laughed. "There is very little woah about this Tony; its empty."

Looking upwards, Tony turned in a slow circle. "Ah, my little ninja probette. You're lack of imagination never ceases to amaze me."

This got a pert snort. "No imagination?" she said, a grin evident in her voice. "Ah, but I have plenty of imagination. In fact, I can think of fifty different ways I could kill someone with just what is in this courtyard." She took several steps forward silently, and then breathed into his ear, "But that's just imagination, yes?"

Tony jumped a little. "In America – " he began, a little loudly to cover up the goosebumps running down his neck, Ziva noticed with a satisfied smile.

"But we are not in America, Tony," Ziva's smile turned dangerous, as she put her hand on Tony's shoulder, trailed it lightly across his back to the opposite one, and then traced her finger tips down his sleeve till she found his hand. Content with the slight shiver she felt him give, she nimbly entwined their fingers, and then pulled him gently towards another archway, where Tony supposed the entrance to the Louvre was.

**I plan to have about two or three more chapters, but it really depends. I tend to get bored quickly, but I definitely will finish this, but if inspiration strikes for another story, it might be a cruddy/quick ending for this.**

**Reviews make my day. *.HINT* …Ima leave now.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Again, sorry if I got my facts wrong. Please correct. Thank you to those who reviewed, azilee, aqiran, betherzz, and surferdude8225. Also, thank you azilee for verifying my attempts to describe France! I actually went there once, but all I really remember was the Lourve, because lemme tell you, its FANTASTIC :D**

Ziva stood in line for the tickets, while Tony took pictures of who knows what. She caught up to him at standing under the pyramid next to a fluid spiral staircase, trying to take artistic pictures.

"Tony. This is not culture. This is the bottom of the pyramid of the Louvre. Why in the world do you want pictures of it?" Ziva asked throwing her hands in the air. She nearly hit a man, who jumped aside just in time, complaining, "Watch it!" in a gruff voice. Ziva smiled pertly at him and turned back to Tony, rolling her eyes.

Spreading his arms out, Tony merely grinned at her. "Ziva. It's Paris. Even the controversial new age stuff is undeniably amazing. Just look at the way – "

"So where do you want to start?" Ziva interrupted him. Standing in the crowd was making her a little bit anxious. She liked being able to keep tabs on everyone in the room, and here she was most definitely unable. Fidgeting a little, she led Tony behind the spiral staircase to the help desk to get a map. There were so many – in nearly every language she could imagine, and definitely in every she could speak – but she finally found one in English and was about to pick it up, when she felt a hand at her shoulder. She felt herself tense automatically, ready to turn whoever it was over, but instead turned around slowly, ready to stare down whatever man thought he could just invade her personal space.

She should have known it was Tony. She peeled his hand off her shoulder and glared at him. "What?" she snapped.

Tony looked at her, not bothering to hide the concern on his face. "I was going to say that I want to be surprised. Ditch the map." He glanced down and saw the map she clutched crumpled in her hand. He reached forward and gently unfolded her fingers, taking the map from her and smoothing it out. "Are you alright? You seem a little… antsy."

She watched him as he pressed the map against his palm, flattening it repeatedly. "I am not a bug. Tony," she told him as flatly as she could, hoping her voice didn't catch and give away that she knew what antsy meant. She hated that Tony could tell when something was upsetting her. Though looking back, she hadn't been to careful to hide it, lashing out at him randomly.

They stared at each other for a few moments, till Tony moved beside her. For a while they just watched the people together. The pyramid let so much light in, everything was bright and beige. It almost hurt Ziva's eyes a little. So many people, so many flashing colors, so much sound, all echoing, all different pitches, different accents, different languages, but all the same words over and over. "Where?" They called out. "Where?"

But Ziva had no answer for them.

--

Tony ended up leading her to the Denon wing. She knew her way around well enough to know how to exit and where the Mona Lisa and her other favorite pieces were, so she didn't even bother to bring a map.

They went up an escalator, gave their tickets over, and then followed a crowd of people to an exhibit full of statues. After seeing one to many nude male statues, Tony decided it was time to leave that room. He dragged Ziva down the next hall. There was a large tour group there, filled with kids, so that even Tony didn't mind moving through it quickly. They moved to the end of the hall, where there was an old stone archway of sorts. For a moment Tony just stared at it, mouth slightly open in awe of how huge it was. He lifted his camera and snapped a picture, and then grinned sheepishly at Ziva.

"It's culture!" He exclaimed happily.

Ziva could feel the smile spread across her face. "That it is. But do you even know what culture?"

But Tony had already moved on. He walked directly under the archway, pointing his camera this way and that, looking for something... but only when he looked right in front of him did he stop to take a picture.

"Tony, that is not art. That is a staircase." Ziva was now full on smiling, watching Tony's awe filled face.

Tony faced her with a wide grin. "But not just any staircase. It's a royal staircase. Can't you just imagine? Women in the sweeping ball gowns, men in uniform with swords! Up and down the staircase, chatting, laughing, being very royal, very wealthy and very French."

"And then getting their heads cut off at the guillotine!"

He continued to examine the staircase. Ziva did admit, it was rather, striking. It was made out of some sort of dark stone, but the rails were white and intricately carved. They rose upwards and widened, then split to go up each side separately to the next floor. In the middle of the wall the flight led up to there was a huge mirror, where Ziva couldn't quite make out the top of their heads. There were lamps on either side of the staircase, all tarnishing silver.

Ziva felt a breath against her ear, and then heard Tony whisper, "Oh, come on, don't tell me you never wanted to be a princess."

She turned in towards him slightly so that their shoulders brushed. He didn't move, but she knew he was suddenly regretting how close he had come to Ziva. They were barely inches apart, or very dangerous territory.

"Princesses," she whispered back, "are boring. All they do is fall asleep and wait for a prince to come along and kiss them. They are stupid and do nothing."

Looking up, Tony grinned at the ceiling. He swung his head back downwards. His eyes did not leave hers as he said, "Well then you can be a feminist princess. Let's see… you would wear a low cut, green dress – the color of your scarf – with white trim and yellow ribbons. You could weave pearls in your hair, upswept of course, and – "

"Tony, why are we doing this-"

Her breath was warm on his neck, but he continued. "I would be wearing white and blue of course, maybe with a red sash. I might even have one of those funny triangle hats with the feathes and the three sides –"

"Tricornes,"

" – yeah, those. And of course I would have a sword – "

"Can I have a sword?"

" No, you – "

"A musket then?"

"Stop interrupting. You can have your dagger if you want. You could hide it in your skirt or something."

"Why does your sword get to be visible if my dagger must be hidden?"

"That's not how it works."

"You said I was a feminist."

"You still have to conform to social norms!"

She scoffed. "Well, then we shouldn't be seen together. We were both married at age fourteen and it's inappropriate that we be in public together."

"What if we married each other?"

Ziva was silent for a moment. Finally she said carefully, "Well, then I guess they are waiting for us upstairs."

They both turned away from each other to face the staircase. Tony took a step forward, then turned back around, bowed formally at her, and extended an arm, face serious, but Ziva knew he was having a time. She decided to just go with it and after a small curtsy, placed her arm on his. Together they made their was up the stairs until they could see themselves in completely in the mirror. There they dropped arms and turned around, watching the busy hall bellow them, filled with camera toting tourist and glass displays; imagining a world of delicacies and pomp, grandeur and ease, irresponsibility and carelessness – a world where the word revolution was foreign and death was obsolete.

--

"That is the Mona Lisa?"

Ziva smirked. "You sound shocked."

"It's tiny!"

Now she flat out scoffed. "You can't even see it."

Which was true. Tony was looking a bit ridiculous standing on his toes in an attempt to see the small portrait, which was surrounded by men and women and strollers and oh-so-many cameras and clickclickclicking.

Tony rolled up his sleeves. "I'm going in. Give Abby a hug for me if I don't come back."

And with that, he dove into the crowd.

While Tony fought for his life to see the Mona Lisa, Ziva walked to the next hall and sat down in one of the circular benches in the middle of the room. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but she wasn't particularly tired, so she didn't mind.

A dull ache spread her mind. Ziva had always been good at dealing with loss, but right now it all just seemed to fall into her lap. She wouldn't even think of _his_ name, she had learned to block it out while imprisoned. But there were others… Jenny.

Of course it was here that it happened. Paris. It made sense. Undercover. No one else to confided in. Jenny and Gibbs. She closed her eyes for a moment. Jenny had mentioned she liked the Louvre too, when they had driven across Europe. Ziva missed Jenny, though she had never stated so aloud. They rarely discussed her, the more Ziva thought about it. Now that Vance…

Suddenly she felt something very close to her face. Her eyes snapped open and her hand shot forward, but luckily she stopped before she hit Tony's camera. "Look at it!" he exclaimed happily "Look at it!"

Ziva squinted and focused her eyes on the small screen. She could make out the Mona Lisa, but just barely, as there was a large motion blur of brown across most of the picture. On the far right of the photo was Tony DiNozzo himself, a very blurry, half faced, closed eyed, open mouthed Tony DiNozzo, but _still_.

He grinned at her. "That, my friend, is art."

**I think the room they were first in was the Salle du Manege, followed by the Gallarie Michel-Ange, but I don't really remember. Anyway, I'm writing what I think I remember, but I was there so long ago… aggg! I think I made the mirror up, but whateves, homeskillettes. **

**If you like what you read and want more, you should REVIEW! (I know how many kids are watching this story, and I know how few reviewed…) :D :D :D **

**3 much love **


	3. Chapter 3

**Look, I wrote for you instead of doing my homework! I totally haven't read over this AT ALL, because I was pretty excited to post it, so forgive any grammar mistakes or poorly worded crap, mmk?**

**Ooooh reviewers I love youuu. Eleven reviews! That's like 5.5 per chapter! A record for me! I'm not one to bribe for comments, or say that I'll only write the next chapter when we get to xyz comments. I write what I like because I like it. So you should comment if you like because you like it :D :D :D**

**MAJOR thank you to Azilee, who answered my questions about Paris **

**--**

"Shut your mouth!" laughed Ziva as chocolate dribbled down Tony's chin.

Tony took another huge bite of his Nutella and whipped cream crepe, while Ziva shook her head and smiled as she finished off her tea. She had declined on a crepe, having had her fair share of them when she lived in Paris a few years back.

Paris was always so crisp to Ziva. The way the cloud covered sky rose atop the beige buildings, and the dark trees contrasted sharply with the gray aura Ziva had always related to the city. She loved the people here too, which was unusual for her. She liked their brisk manor, polite, but not like Americans, who were willing to chat your ears off till you wanted to make use of the rubber band around your wrist.

She glanced over at Tony, who seemed all to willing to prove her point. Luckily, although he was blabbering, his mouth was not full of food this time, and he kept the arm waving to a minimum. He seemed to be referencing St Elmo's Fire, but she couldn't really tell. Although she was fluent in so many languages, her self conscious still automatically went to tune out whatever words were not spoken in Hebrew. After extended periods speaking one language, this would discontinue, but it was a nice ability whenever McGee went techno-babble, or Tony wanted to tell her the whole plot of a movie. Letting the meanings go, she would let the words pour over her and instead listen to the sound of their voices, the way that they formed words, the pitch changes and the pauses, emphasis and punctuation. The flow sounded rather beautiful sometimes.

--

Tony had taken at least thirty pictures of the Eiffel tower, when Ziva, although laughing, literally dragged him to the line to go up it.

"You will like the underside. All sorts of wires and metal and stuff for you to photograph. Anyway, if we don't get in line now, the elevators will close before we can go up."

Tony quickened his pace, but still complained, "It's only 10 though!"

"It closes at 11," she reminded him.

"We have an hour!" He stopped momentarily to take another picture of the tower from a different angle, but Ziva laughed and grabbed his arm, toting him along.

"Have you ever heard of a line?"

More and more street venders shook keychain Eiffel towers in their face the closer they got. Ziva always just shook her head and smiled, leading Tony away before he reached for his wallet or egged them on in some way.

The line wasn't too bad; it only took them about twenty minutes to go through. However, it seemed much longer because of the couple with the wailing baby in front of them.

"Babies should not be allowed out of their homes until they have stopped making so much noise!" Ziva hissed to Tony.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "You don't like kids?"

"I do not like their noise!"

Tony chuckled. "With that attitude, you'll never be a good mother."

"Who said I wanted kids?" Ziva leaned against the back of a metal detector. She tilted her head, face serious. The wind blew hair in her face, but she pushed it away without really a thought.

His expression changed to match her seriousness. "You do. You want kids."

"I don't. I like NCIS. I don't plan on staying at home."

"You're husband could stay at home."

She pursed her lips and looked away. Finally, she said quietly, "He wouldn't want to, I don't think."

"A nanny?"

She shook her head now, vehemently more animated now. "No. I would want to be there for my child – should I have one – which I don't."

Now it was Tony's turn to be silent. "Yeah. So would I."

For a moment, they just watched each other, till the baby in front of them shrieked and then gurgled happily, spitting slobber everywhere, including DiNozzo's ear.

"Hey!"

--

"McGoo would wet himself," Tony said, leaning on the rail of the top floor of the Eiffel tower.

Ziva sniffed. It was cold out here, and she could feel her nose beginning to run. "You do not give him enough credit."

"Eh, Probie's getting better all the time…" Tony thought about this for a moment, and then sang in a bad falsetto and an even worse British accent, "Betta, betta, beeeetta."

Ziva said nothing back, only continued to look out at Paris. In the dark it glowed golden, like the rest of the tower itself. She sniffled again, and Tony gave her a funny look. "What?" she asked.

"Are you… sniffling?"

Ziva folded her arms. "Yes. I am rather cold, alright?" Her pink nose served as proof, if the weather didn't. Which it did of course. It had been freezing the whole time they had been there, and at the top of the tower, the wind was the worst.

Tony put an arm around her. "It's alright my little ninja. We can't all be as adept to the elements as me."

Ziva merely raised an eyebrow at him, but after a moment, laid her head on his shoulder. For a second nothing happened, but then she felt Tony's arm tighten around her, a light pressure on the top of her head. She felt herself get warmer, which vaguely amused her. She credited it to Tony's arm, but her body disagreed with her – the proof was in her racing heart.

**--minor switch into dinozzos 3****rd**** person pov cause im the writer and gosh darn it, its my story!--**

"I am going to take a shower," Ziva declared once back at the hotel room. Anything to avoid figuring out sleeping arrangements. She grabbed a few clothes from her bag and a hotel provided towel and headed into the bathroom.

"Okay." Tony sat in the armchair. Sitting in the bed would be like claiming it, unless he sat to one side, which would be like an invitation, or maybe expectation. Tony hated to admit it, but this made him nervous. No one ever made him nervous, except Gibbs, but even then, that was a different nervous from this. That nervous was anticipation – the knowing that a Gibbs slap was coming his way. This nervous was the lack of anticipation. He could never judge what Ziva was going to do next. Gibbs was predictable. Probie was predictable. Abby and Ducky, both predictable. Jimmy didn't count because he was Jimmy, a freak of nature, not a mystery like Ziva. She wasn't even that mysterious - once she did something, he could read her motivation, her thoughts, her reasoning pretty well, he believed. But guessing what she would do next? Impossible.

A sudden crash came from the bathroom, followed by a string of what must be curses in a number of different languages. He was on his feet in a second. "Ziva? Are you alright?"

An angry "No!" followed by more curses followed.

Tony waited a moment, then called out in a hopeful voice, "Need help?"

This time the "NO!" was a bit more forceful. Tony chuckled a little and walked towards Ziva's suitcase to grab a book she had inevitably brought with her. There were three books on American history – did she really think she would get through them all in two days? – and a copy of Breaking Dawn.

"Ziva? Ziva?" he called over his shoulder, still kneeling by her bag.

Another crash came from the bathroom, followed by a very angry "What?" and a near hiss from Ziva.

"Did you really read the Twilight series?"

The bathroom door swung open to reveal Ziva in sweatpants and a tshirt with her hair wrapped in a towel. She held a bundle of clothes in the crook of her right arm He was vaguely disappointed, remembering her pajamas the last time they shared a room. But right now he was too wrapped up in the fact that she brought Breaking Dawn to Paris to really care.

"Of course not!" she laughed. "It's horrible! The girl does nothing but complain. And all these guys like somehow like her! It makes no sense."

Tony thought about this for a moment. "Well, then how do you know that and why do you have this," he held up Breaking Dawn, "in your bag?"

Ziva smirked. "I knew you would forget to bring a book, so I packed one for you. And I know the plot because Abby made me go see it with her in theaters." Ziva unwrapped the towel from her head. "She was very disappointed with it, by the way."

Tony stood up from Ziva's bag. "Wait. You brought me Breaking Dawn? Do you think I'm a prepubescent girl?" He marched over to her, book still clutched in his hand, shaking it in her nose.

Without even blinking, she responded, "No. I just thought you had the reading ability of one." She walked over to her bag and knelt down to put away her clothes. "Why were you digging around in my bag anyway?"

He shrugged and leaned against the wall. "Needed something to read."

As she stood up she pushed the hair from her face. "So you dug through an assassin's bag?" Ziva had that look on her face, the dangerous one she often had when she suddenly appeared at his shoulder, pressed far to close to him at work.

Deciding to play it cool, he scoffed. "You wouldn't hurt me."

She walked closer to him, a small smile spread across her face. "Sure about that?" she asked in a low voice, eyes bright in the dim light of the hotel room. She put a hand on his cheek and watched him carefully, as if she was testing him. Although he would never admit how nervous this made him, he also would never admit how much he enjoyed this nervousness. He raised his eyebrows.

"Positive."

She made a sudden movement with the hand that wasn't resting on his cheek, and he flinched. "You do not seem to be so positive." With that she walked away, leaving him slightly breathless.

"Ummmm… I'm going to take a shower now," he finally said.

Ziva nodded and sat down on the chair, opening her book.

**---back to ziva's pov—**

They were avoiding the topic of who sleeps where, and they both knew it. And they both knew where they would end up sleeping, but neither really wanted to think about that either. Or talk about it. All Ziva could do was thank her therapist for helping her get rid of the nightmares. She had had them irregularly since Somalia, but they were gone now.

Instead of focusing on her sleeping arrangements, she tried to read. When that didn't work, she thought of what they would have to do tomorrow. Pick up Nora, catch the plane, keep their witness safe. Easy, she hoped.

When Tony finally was out of the shower, they stared at each other for a moment.

"I suppose we have to discuss sleeping arrangements," Ziva said with a sigh, closing her book.

"Yeah, I suppose we do," Tony said in the same tone, as he put his clothes in his suitcase.

She stood up and began to pace a little. "Well. There are two options. One of us could take the chair while the other takes the bed, or we could agree on being mature adults – " at this Tony scoffed, " – and share the bed." She shrugged as Tony pretended he hadn't even thought this was an option. "We have done it before."

"Well, if one of us is taking the chair, it should probably be one of the ones without a bad back," he tried to say this as matter of factly as he could.

Ziva raised an eyebrow and stopped pacing. "So the one who can kill the other one with a paper clip should take it?"

"Is that a threat?"

"Should it be?"

They watched each other for a moment. Finally Tony sat on one side of the bed and patted the other. "Plenty of room," he said. "I'll stay on this side, you can stay on that. Unless, of course…"

"Shut up, Tony," she said, but sat down next to him and reopened her book. Tony, not to be outdone, opened his copy of Breaking Dawn.

"It's such fun to read. Meh-yer really pumps my nads," he said in his John Bender voice.

Ziva rolled over to her side. "Enough Breakfast Club quotes for tonight," she told him sternly.

After about an hour of reading, Ziva put her book aside, and Tony mirrored her actions. "Sleep?" he asked. She nodded, and he got up to turn off the lights. Ziva pulled up the covers and climbed under them. The bed was rather lumpy and very thin. It curved down in the middle, and Ziva was surprised it held both of their weight. She heard Tony get in on his side, making the bed go down even farther.

She shut her eyes and tried to go to sleep, but it was rather futile. From the amount of movement from Tony's side, she assumed he couldn't either.

She sighed and let out a breath, and was about to tell Tony that –

"AHHHH!"

In less than a second she was sitting up, gun in hand, head swinging around looking for whoever was attacking Tony. She stood up on the bed, and Tony did the same, except he jumped up a little less gracefully, got tangled in the sheets and fell down twice before he finally clambered up to stand, using Ziva's leg as a grip. She swung her gun towards the floor, "What is it, Tony?" she asked, "Why did you scream?"

"There's a cockroach!" He looked around by his feet, searching for the little bug.

Ziva looked at her partner incredulously. "All that because of a bug?"

"It was inside the mattress! We are sleeping on a colony of crunchy critters who will undoubtedly take over the world some day!"

Ziva burst out laughing. "You are scared of a little bug, Tony?" Leaning over, she put her gun on a small bedside table.

"I am not scared…" he muttered, a little dejectedly. "I'm just – "

"Look! Over there!" Ziva pointed at a spot on the mattress.

Without even looking he jumped a foot in the air, and when he came back down, there was a sickening, rusty squeal, followed by a crunch, and then a loud boom as middle of the bed collapsed through the chains that had held the bed up. Ziva felt her feet hit the ground with a shocking thud. Tony lost his balance and fell off the bed.

For a moment, she stood there stunned. The bed caved in a little, but the whole mattress had sunk onto the floor, only the edges caught on the sides of the bed remained suspended. She looked over the rim of the bed to find Tony on his back, his breath clearly knocked out of him.

"Tony. What did you just _do_?" she hissed.

He sat up, rubbing his head. "What did I just do? You were the one who pretended to see the cockroach!"

"You were the one who just broke the bed!" she cried throwing up her hands.

"I did?" he looked under the bed to make sure. "I did. Hm. Well, that's never happened before."

"I am going to kill you."

He stood up and brushed himself off. "It wasn't my fault."

She climbed down from the bed, eyes dangerously narrow. "Where are we going to sleep?"

"It wasn't my fault!" He watched her move towards her suitcase. "Hey… Hey what are you doing?" Ziva heard a bit of nervousness in his voice. Shaking her head, she unzipped and began to dig through her clothes, until she found it. "What's… what's tha – oh."

Unfolding the blanket in her hand, she grabbed a pillow from the bed and made her way to the middle of the room where she lay down on the floor.

"Why do you have that?"

Ziva did not answer, just rolled on her side and fluffed the pillow. Tony was watching her; she could feel it. She heard him sigh.

"Come on, Ziva, don't give me the silent treatment."

"I have it for the plane," she said simply, not wanting to seem immature.

She heard the floorboards creak, and then a thud as he lay down a few feet away from her. "Want to share the blanket?"

Rolling over, she stared in disbelief at his smiling face. "There is no way in hell!"

He frowned. "But it's really cold!" Which it was. The carpet was very thin, it was rather like sleeping on ply board. She had been through worse, but that did not make this any better. This hotel was so grungy. Just being in it made her feel like she had a layer of dirt on her skin.

"Get a blanket from the bed," she told him and rolled back over.

"What if there are cockroaches in it?"

"Suck it up."

Ziva repositioned herself on the floor, and as she put her head back on the pillow heard a sickening crunch. Sitting up, she stared a the thing, and then poked it. Another crunch came from the pillow. She cringed as she imagined whatever bug she had just smashed, and slowly laid back down. Making a face she was glad Tony couldn't see, she put her head on the pillow, only to get another string of crunches. She closed her eyes and pretended she wasn't disgusted.

"If you share the blanket, I'll share my pillow," Tony offered.

Trying not to move her head, she responded, "Nothing is wrong with my pillow."

"I heard the crunch too. And I can tell you're grossed out."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "I am not 'grossed out.' Nor am I going to share your pillow. Anyway, it probably has bugs in it too."

"Does not. I brought it myself."

"Why?"

"Don't try to sidetrack me. And I brought it for the plane."

Ziva fidgeted slightly, and more noises erupted from her pillow. She cringed and closed her eyes, just to hear a squeak. Her eyes opened to see a cockroach climb out of her pillow. Sitting up, she swatted it away, and threw the pillow away from her.

"Fine." She walked over to where he was lying. He scooted over for her, and she lay down next to him, covered them both in her blanket, and then flipped to her side. He did the same so they were back to back.

"Goodnight, Ziva."

"Goodnight, Tony."

--

Ziva awoke to someone playing with her hair. The first lights of morning shone through the window, illuminating the dismal hotel room in shades of pink.

"What are you doing, DiNozzo?" she asked with a sigh.

She heard a small laugh. "I don't really know. Too early to think."

"Why are you awake?"

"Your hair is soft"

"Go back to sleep."

"Only if you will."

"I want to go running."

"I'll go with you if you don't stay here."

She paused for a moment, half tempted to make him come with her. "Okay. I will go back to sleep. Just let go of my hair."

But Tony was already asleep, or at least, that's what she let herself believe. She knew he was faking it, and although she would never admit it, his hand in her hair felt nice. So she let out a small breath, closed her eyes, and went back to sleep. Soon morning would be fully upon them, and they would be coworkers again, two people fully aware of Rule 12 and the reasons it was in place. But for now they were just Ziva and Tony, pretending to be prince and princess, royal fools with nothing to worry about.

**Fin.**

**So, what's a cliché that's going around the fandom that's really annoying you? **


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